


Affections.

by phansb



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Holiday Fic Exchange, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 16:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phansb/pseuds/phansb
Summary: Dan's family is going on holiday to Portugal for Christmas—Dan can't join them. Phil decides they need to celebrate Christmas early, together.





	Affections.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ouijay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouijay/gifts).



_“The long silences need to be loved,”_

_Franz Wright, from God’s Silence: Poems; ‘Home Remedy,’_

_\---_

Phil’s just stepped onto the lift, and is now stood beside Dan, who's donning only a thin jumper for an uncharacteristically cold day in November.

He nudges Dan's right elbow with his own left, in way of any proper greeting. Dan's carrying shopping bags that knock cold against Phil’s thigh.

They know each other well, but Dan isn’t one of Phil's oldest friends. He's known people for decades past, childhood friends. They've only just met in the past year, after Dan moved into the building Phil’s lived in, down the hall, and needed helping. He didn't ask, but it was entirely evident by the struggling of five boxes up flights of stairs. He couldn't find the lift.

They'd got on nicely, in a way unanticipated, Phil thinks, for two majorly introverted people. It was a silent sort of agreement that Dan needed to know someone here—this city, Manchester—and that Phil would be kind enough to fill whatever void had been left in place of old life. It's only a benefit that Dan happens to be great company.

“It smells like mince pies,” Dan says. “Doesn't it? Did… are the neighbours baking, or something?”

Phil stops and sniffs the air. “It does? What the hell.” He laughs. “Did the building’s landlord insert festive smells into the lifts? I think that would be a good idea. I’d do that, if I was a landlord.”

“You'd be a good landlord. Candy-cane minty smells for everyone. Actually—I think that’d just make everyone hungry. Maybe not.”

“Weak,”

“Excuse me, for not wanting a snack every time I use the lift. Be out of food in a week.”

“You already are.”

“Bleh.”

The lift makes a bell sound, and the door slides open. They both step out onto the twelfth floor. It always smells of cheap cigarettes, although today there's also sweetness of the neighbouring mince pie.

“Speaking of mince pies—what are you gonna do for Christmas?” He asks. “Since Halloween is over, and after Bonfire Night passes, it's basically started.”

Phil has half-started this conversation only because he wants to chat about his family's bi-annual trip to Florida; how he thinks he's going to spend Christmas at the beach, as if he were living in the southern hemisphere.  
  
“That's not true.” Dan chuckles. “Dunno. My family wants to go on holiday to Portugal, but it'd be for like a week or two, and I don't think I can afford that? I'll probably just stay home.”

“What? You're not gonna like, be alone at Christmas? That's the classic film-sad-thing.”

“Yeah, mate. My nana will probably be cross, since she’s highly Christian and it’s important we spend Christmas together because, uh, the birth of Jesus. Obvs.”

“We should celebrate then. Like, Friendmas. Isn't that a thing they do in the shows?”

“Really?” He pauses. “Alright. When, Mr. Festive Ideas?”

“Now. Right now.” Phil grins, facing towards him, hands in the pockets of his coat. They've stopped in the hallway.

“Fuck off.”

“Really!”

“At least let me put the shopping away, first.”

“Fine. But I'm gonna go out again, now, so come to my flat and ring in an hour."

“Okay, yeah.” Dan glares intently, staring into Phil's eyes, as if a challenge, or a game. They both break, falling into laughter in the same moment. “Okay! Go. Bye.” He places a hand on Phil's chest, shoving gently.

“Bye!”

*

An hour later, Phil opens the door to a cozy-looking Dan. He's wearing pyjamas—not really pyjamas, because Phil knows he sleeps only in his pants, but joggers and a warmer jumper than previous—and his hair is a frizzy mess. He has worn-out grey slippers on.

“Dressed down,” Phil says.

“Well, sorry. I didn't assume you were inviting over the entirety of our extended friends. It’s just you, right?”

“It’s just me.” Phil confirms. “C’mon, I made hot cocoa.”

“So,” Dan says, making his way over to the sofa. “What're we gonna do? For this… Friendmas? Except there's only two of us, I guess. Not much of a party.”

Phil enters the room, holding two mugs of hot cocoa, topped up with marshmallows and vanilla powder. “The same thing we do every night, Pinky—try to take over the world.”

“Ah, I see. What does that entail, exactly?”

“Christmas-themed films and snacks.”

“Nice.”

“It's gonna be ‘Love, Actually’ and ‘The Children’, because I want it to be proper with DVDs and those are the only ones I could find.”

“Isn't The Children a horror film?”

“Dunno? I haven't watched it since university. I'm sure it's fine. I'll put it in, wait—” Phil picks up the DVD case from his mantel, reading over the back. “Yeah. It's a thriller. S'fine, though. Not like you're gonna be alone.” He stops. “I mean—we can watch something else from Netflix, if you want. Hallmark film.”

“Nah. Plus... Love, Actually is dumb and like, humorous enough that I'll probably be over it.” Dan smiles reassuringly, then shifts his awkward position on the sofa, and grabs a spare blanket. “It's fucking freezing in here, man.”

“I'll turn up the heat.”

The film starts out with a family driving through a forest, and then a child being sick in the bushes next to the house they're intending to stay at.

“Ew, Jesus Christ.” Dan says. “I hate when I'm eating and they put vomit in shows. Why do they do that?”

“You're not really eating,” Phil argues. “But, same. And—!” He stands up from the sofa, uncoordinated, placing his half-full mug of melted marshmallow on the table. “I bought us mince pies! To eat.”

He raises an eyebrow, shrugging the blanket from his shoulders. “Really?”

“Yeah, earlier. I got them from Morrisons.”

“Oooh, yum! Remember when we talked about starting a Mince Pie Codex? Like, try them at every place that sells them and see which is the best? We have to do that next year.”

“We do.” He agrees.

The pies Phil bring have stars baked into the crusts, with sugary-butter coating, and smell like something indistinctly sweet and blueberry. He places one—plated—on Dan’s lap, and the other on the left armrest of his sofa.

They're halfway through eating the mince pies when one of the children in the film has a sudden, violent outburst—causing Dan to flinch. “Christ,” He mutters under his breath, reaching out to hold Phil's hand. “I’m not watching this alone.” He rubs his thumb over Dan's knuckles, gently, a moment.

Shortly after, there's a scene where a man's head is sliced open by a rake. This sends Dan to being fully pressed against Phil's side, frowning. He knocks his knee against Phil's.

“Shock gore,” Phil comments. “Is outdated. I like… psychological stuff better.”

“Eh. Sometimes it like, uh, makes people with mental illness seem like the monsters. I don't think that's fair, y’know?”

“Yeah, you're right. I mean like… mentally torture? Greatest fears an’ stuff, I guess. That doesn't make any sense.”

“You never make any sense.”

“You love it.” Phil sticks out his tongue.

“I guess.” Dan says, resting his head on Phil’s shoulder. “Hmm, you’re warm. Don't move.”

“Your hair is in my mouth.”

“Good, eat it.” He says, shoving the full top of his curls into Phil's mouth.

“Ack.” Phil chokes, although he’s already quite clearly accepting it. “Should we switch to watching Love, Actually now? This is getting boring, and I'm gonna get tired. I thought it was less shit than this.”

“Sure.”

After Phil puts in Love, Actually and gets it to start playing properly, and skips through the advertisements, he resumes his place on the sofa, cross-legged, hugging a throw pillow to his chest.

“How do you even own a DVD player? It's 2018.”

“I think my mum gave it to me when I first moved out of the house. Martyn probably didn't want it so… hand-me-down?”

“Oh. Do you ever use it?” Dan returns to his position relaxing his body against Phil.

“Nah. But it's festive, yeah? Traditional.”

“Right.”

Dan was correct, the film is pleasant enough to wash out any memory of the gore—Phil wonders about the kind of person he was at twenty-two, if he enjoyed that sort of thing enough to buy it—of the previous film. When the story of Billy Mack and Joe wraps up, Dan says: “It's like us. You thought I needed affection, and now we're getting drunk and watching porn.”

“That is definitely it. Christmas films and hot cocoa are basically the same as that.”

“They are.” He yawns, burying his nose into the fabric of Phil’s shirt. “You smell like raspberries.”

“Do I?”

Dan closes his eyes, breath steadying out. “Yup. It’s because you stole my shampoo, and I bought raspberry shampoo. Or… was it strawberry? Dunno. You smell like me, buy your own shit.”

“Stop letting me borrow yours.”

“Never.” He frowns visibly, melodramatically, then stifles another yawn.

The rest of the film plays out, and by the time end credits are rolling, Dan has fully fallen asleep leaning against Phil’s shoulder, looking like he's about to fall off. He was right, though. His curls smell the same as Phil does.

Phil lays down properly—or as proper as it could possibly be arranged, on a sofa designed barely for two humans—and maneuvers Dan so his cheek is on Phil's chest, and their entire bodies go along the length of it together. He's grateful Dan is a heavy sleeper.

Phil finds that having another person so close to him; feeling the unwavering, peaceful breathing that comes with sleep, is calming and soft. Apart from late nights with Dan in the past year, it's been a long while since Phil’s tangibly slept close with anyone. He always forgets how genuinely nice it feels.

He runs his fingers across the cheek that isn't hidden, before following along Dan's jawline, nose, ear, and the shaved part of his haircut. This ends with him tracing the waves of Dan's curls, in careful concentration. He thinks they're the type of thing that always look so perfect, so sculptured, that they should for sure only be reality in photoshopped beauty tabloids.

Phil's eyes drift closed with his left hand still run through Dan's hair, right placed on his back.

*

Phil wakes up to a stiffness in his neck, and a dull pain in his back that comes from not moving in ones sleep. He groans, squeezing his eyes shut and stretching out his arms.

The brash movement awakes Dan from his sleep. Then, there's a shuffle feeling on his chest, before the warmth is entirely pulled from his body.

“Wait… come back.” Phil says, reaching out a hand. “M'cold.”

“No,” Dan replies. “It's my blanket now. Bug off.”

“Mean.” He pouts.

When he opens his eyes, he can see that Dan is sitting on the floor, wrapped up in his blanket from the night before. He resembles a disheveled mole-rat.

They're both in that state of being found directly after—and during, before—one is at the beginning of waking up; a hazy feeling, as if one's brain is foggy and they could stare at a blank wall for hours without becoming bored. Half-dreaming and easily entertained by familiarness.

After a few minutes of comfortable, morning-still silence, Dan pipes up: “I'm hungry. Do you have breakfast?”

“Cereal?”

“Mm-hmm. Want me to pour you some?”

“Yes. I have like, five different flavours right now. Oh! Should we try mixing them together?”

“Yeah,” Dan tilts his head a bit to the left, curiously thinking. “If it won't taste disgusting.” He adds.

“It won't.” Phil finally stands up, taking a moment to stretch out his muscles, and rub his eyes of remaining sleep-sand. “Wait—I’m still cold. I need your warmth. I need a hug.”

Mostly, Phil thinks, he just likes the assured and promised feeling that can often come with these hugs. It’s always a nice feeling to have, to wake up to. When he and Dan first met it all had felt awkward and stitled, Dan had needed some warming up and trust with the slight vulnerability. This had made sense to Phil.

“How do you know I'm warm?”

“You’re always warm. It's like… the main thing.”

“You only hang out with me for body heat?” Dan stands himself up, hugging his arms around his waist. He gives off a cheeky grin. “Shame, Lester.”

“My deepest secret. Hug?”

“Only to keep your Reptilia-self alive, this is the last time. Mark my words.” He says, pulling Phil into a safe, bone-crushing hug. It feels like warmth and holidays.

“How are you always so warm? You're weird.”

“Warm-blooded mammal. You can't relate, we discussed.”

“Mmm, that's true—I’m a lizard. I'll lick you.” His words are lost, muffled into Dan's shoulder.

*

Their concoctions end up a somewhat curious mix of Frosties, Chocolate Coco Pops, and Crunchy Nut, with Dan adding a flavoured touch of Honey Cheerios to his.

“It is gonna taste disgusting.” Dan says, when they're both sitting on the sofa with their Netflix series playing. It’s called Riverdale. Over the past month, they've grown into a pattern of—whenever they have the days off—going to each others’ flats and trying to finish this series Phil’s found, with their meals. So far, they're on season 2, episode 4.

“It is not. It'll taste great. Sugar-y.”

“Too sweet.”

“There's no such thing as too sweet.”

“I reckon you'd have a different opinion... if I held you down and force-poured sugar into your mouth.”

“Is that a kink? Either way, no, I would love it. Love me some raw sugar.”

“You’re absolutely gross.” He says, staring at Phil with some disgust. His tone holds no proper heat to it.

“I'm right. You're just boring. I bet your favourite food is just, like… broccoli. Well, I like broccoli. Your favourite food is some awful raw fish, I bet. Or cheese.”

“I hate fish. I like cheese, though. You're right. I eat it whenever you're not around the apartment building, ‘cause or else you’ll smell it and unfriend me everywhere.”

“Now that you've told me, I have to immediately check my Twitter for something unrelated.” Phil says, making a mock attempt of taking his mobile out.

“You absolute troll,” Dan laughs, slapping Phil’s arm lightly.

*

An hour later, Phil is laying across the sofa, and Dan is sat with Phil’s feet on his lap, aimlessly scrolling through his mobile feed and switching through apps.

“Hey,” Phil starts, “We should go out.”

“To where?”

“The city centre. They're doing the Christmas lightings later. Like, Friendmas, Part Two: Deluxe Supreme Edition. There's gonna be music and fireworks, I think.”

“Ooh, V festive.”

“It is. Plus, then we can buy each other presents. Properly celebrate.”

“What? Are we gonna do a Christmas morning tomorrow? I have a shift.”

“No, for actual Christmas morning in December. Then you can text me telling me what an amazing friend I am, because I picked the exact right gift.”

“Yeah, good luck betting on that one. We could go shopping, though.”

“Okay. Go get dressed and then meet me back here.”

“Do I have to get dressed? Like, joggers and a jumper isn't really that informal. I’m warm. And it's Saturday. Let's just go.”

“Yes, you have to!” Phil raises one of his legs from Dan’s lap, before immediately dropping it down again. “You can't go to the city in clothes you just slept in. That's weird. You're weird.”

“Your mum's weird.”

“Hmph.”

“Fine, God. Gimme like, uh, twenty minutes. I wanna shower.”

“K.”

*

After a particularly lengthy, overcrowded trip on the underground—due to both people already going out for Christmas shopping, or people also headed to Albert Square for the evening lights—they arrive in the city centre, looking around the shops and windows which are to be decorated for the holidays.

“A few shops are already fully done.” Dan says. “Don’t they think to wait until it's appropriate? Like, December? Nobody wants to listen to Christmas music in early November.”

“That is true.” Phil says. “Imagine if you had to work retail listening to the same songs for two months straight? I would die.”

Dan shoves his hands into his coat pockets, burrowing his face into the fabric of his hood. “Yeah, man. I'd go fucking insane.”

“Don't swear. There are probably children ‘round here.”

“They can’t hear us.”

“That's what you think. Once, when I was like, five, my grandpa said the S-word while I was around the corner and I heard him. I spent the rest of the day repeating it… until my mum heard and told me off. Martyn thought it was hilarious.”

“Really?” Dan laughs. “You were such a cute kid. My parents swore around me all the time when I was really little. I guess they were pretty young, though. Didn’t know better.”

“Martyn was just a test baby for when they had me. That's why I’m the favourite.” Phil nods at his own statement, as if reaffirming it.

“Right. Well, should we split up and look through the shops? This seems like a good area.”

“Okay, good plan. When should we meet again?”

“In like… an hour. At four, or half past? Like, just text whenever you're finished, and then we can meet at Starbucks or something.” He bumps his arm against Phil's.

“Yee.”

*

The first store Phil goes to is Lush, because he knows Dan loves the sparkling bath bombs from there.

Everything smells like shampoo, or body wash, but a pleasant kind; spring flowers. He can make this out even long ways down the street, as the smell feels it's following him and drawing him into the shop. It's almost overwhelming.

He goes to the corner with a selection of colours, sparkled or not, and looks them over.

Phil knows that Dan’s favourite colours are black, purple, silver, and gold. Black probably isn't the best choice, however, as Phil can't imagine a pool of water that looks of coal to be relaxing. He decides silver wouldn't be particularly noticeable with the already clearness of the water, and ends with choosing a vibrant purple that has golden specks and sparkles. It looks royal.

After this, Phil goes to a chocolate shop and buys a small assortment, and another shop where he buys a scented candle that smells like burnt marshmallows.

He decides this is a decent amount of gifts for someone, a few small things, and goes off to his last stop before the finishing coffees.

It's a Christmas shop that opens earlier in the year, with decorations already placed in the windows. He wants to buy Dan a card, also, a tiny tree he can decorate in his flat. He knows Dan does have a full-size Christmas tree, but he’s doubtful he'll put it up with nobody to celebrate with this year. Last year at this time, Phil remembers that Dan had invited old colleagues over for a welcoming party, but he’d visited family in Wokingham for the actual date. Dan is highly predictable.

After Phil finds a tree that he thinks Dan will appreciate, he looks through the holiday cards. It's mostly the sort of dribble Christian grandmas send their Christian grandchildren, which he supposes makes sense. Christmas is a technical religious holiday. _Wishing you the best this holiday season, with all my heart. Love, Grandma Marianna._ Phil appreciates the sentiments.

He wonders if he should buy Dan the most hysterical card he can find, the most unlike the way they are, and address it ironically.

 _Sending our_ _warmest thoughts and best wishes for a Christmas filled with happiness. May the coming year fill your home with joy, your heart with love and your life with laughter._

_With love, PHIL. Xx =)_

_P.S. I don’t know who ‘our' is???? It is the collective Phil. There are 12 of me now. Be prepared when I come home because you have to feed us all or we will KILL YOUUUUUUUUUUU AAAAHSHAJAHHHDHSJSKSND EDSNSN_

_Ok bye <3 _

This is the final result of Phil's card, after he writes his message with a spare pen in the holiday shop.

*

They reunite at the Starbucks nearby to Albert Square—this is where the Christmas lighting will take place, as will the concerts—with an hour to spare. Dan had taken longer than anticipated, so Phil’d used the spare time window shopping womens’ clothes.

They’re standing in the queue, shoulder-to-shoulder, as it's a rather busy afternoon.

“What're you gonna get?” Dan asks. His voice is quiet, almost drowned out in all the commotion.

“Dunno. What's the new festive drink?”

“It's November. You can't get festive drinks yet.”

“We can if we're celebrating Christmas in November.”

“Well… they aren't selling them yet. Coffee?”

Phil surveys the menu a moment before saying, “White Chocolate Mocha.”

“Mmmm… I'm getting Flat White Espresso.”

“Bit basic, isn't it?”

“I am basic.”

“You are.”

After they order their drinks, and Phil buys himself a cookie—oat, with a Nutella filling—before they go off to sit down at the sofa chairs near the window.

“It's not that cold yet.” Phil says. “There's no misty windows, and our breath doesn’t make smoke.”

Dan takes a sip of his Mocha, then frowns. “It doesn't. That's because we're in the U.K. and it's like, barely November. Wait a few weeks, yeah? We'll come back here.”

“True. I reckon it'll be freezing in January.”

Dan nods.

Their conversation drifts off into nothing, and Dan appears to be lost deep in thought, so Phil doesn't bother with anything else.

Being silent and unspoken space has always felt awkward to Phil, no matter how long he's known the person in question, but he thinks it's different with Dan. With him, it seems to always be so much laughter and singing around them. The other thing is quiet. Dan is the type of person who thinks that a good relationship means you can sit with them for hours, not speaking, and it's still comfortable and trusting. Phil understands this. He always feels anxious to make sure everyone is entertained with his presence, and guesses Dan doesn't feel the same pressure as him.

“Fuck. It's still hot.” Dan interrupts, licking the side of his hand of a burn. “Christ.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. It's all red now, though. Starbucks needs to chill.”

“Pfft. You need to make sure the drink isn't still steaming before you try it.”

“Well, I guess I know now.”

*

“I think it's gonna be a few minutes,” Phil says. “Sorry. This will get boring.”

They're standing in Albert Square, surrounded by people. Phil can hear faint noise of a toddler singing, "Oh Christmas tree," repeating, over and over again. His nose is red with chills.

"Nothing with you is ever really boring." Dan reassures.

"I reckon staring at a blank wall for five hours with me… would be boring."  
  
"Nah, you'd make it fun."

Phil looks down at his trainers. He always feels like a slower thinker when it's cold out, too much of his energy spent keeping up body heat. He forgets how cold these nights can be.

The music is playing, loud enough to know of its existence and yet vaguely incoherent with the noiseiness and cheering around them. First, Jonas Blue had performed, and now it's Max George. Phil doesn’t recognize any of their songs, or their names, but he thinks that makes sense. His music taste consists mostly of Muse and soundtracks from various games and films. He can't imagine there’ll be a lot of Stranger Things soundtrack concerts this Christmas season.

A short while later, he can feel Dan’s lips suddenly press against his ear. “The countdown is gonna start soon. It's seven twenty-eight.” He whispers.

Phil must've closed his eyes at some point during the show, so he feels around for Dan and then pulls him close. “Okay.”

Dan giggles. “That tickled. Stop.”

Phil gets closer still, running fingers along Dan's neck and cheek until he's a mess of trying to remain quiet.

“Huh?”

“Fuck off,” He whispers, pushing Phil away. They're both all smiles. “Oh. Countdown.” Dan adds.

“Nine!” Goes the crowd around them. Phil can hear Dan’s voice the clearest, but he can make out a child screaming from Mum’s shoulders beside them. The rest melts together. “Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!”

The balloon Father Christmas lights up with ‘Merry Christmas Manchester’ in a tacky font; the trees have flashing colour-changing lights strung about them. The clock tower glows red.

There's fireworks going off from behind the buildings, it's quite deafening and flashy. Phil  turns to look at Dan.

Dan is grinning, and his dimples are evident, shown even in the subpar winter lighting. He looks back to Phil.

“It's really cool, isn't it?” Dan calls. “I like fireworks, when they're not set off right next to my flat at three in the morning.”

“They're very bright. I wonder where they've set them off from? I hope somewhere safe. Don't want them to hit us.”

“Definitely somewhere safe.” Dan replies.

Phil laughs. “You look fucking frozen. Your lips are turning blue.”

“It's cold. Don't blame me!”

“I'm blaming you. You're the God of Coldness. What’s that one's name?”

“Boreas? I dunno why I knew that.”

“Because you're him.”

Dan sticks his tongue out, licking the tip of Phil's nose, before immediately pulling it back in. “Shit. That was cold. D'you think our breath would make smoke now?”

“Probably.” Phil breaths out. “Hm. Nothing.” He touches his fingers to the drool Dan's left on his nose. “You're gross.”

“Your mum's gross.”

“Take it back.”

“Sorry. Your mum isn't gross, she’s lovely. She makes good desserts.”

“No, the drool. Take it back. Lick it back, I don’t want your DNA on me.”

“Fine.” Dan kisses Phil’s nose, and his lips are surprisingly warm against his skin. “There. I've taken it back. Happy Christmas.”

Phil bursts into laughter, feeling a tad delirious. “Happy Christmas!” He leans forward and kisses Dan’s right cheek. “Happy Christmas!”

Dan kisses Phil’s left cheek, giggling. “Happy Christmas.”

*

Two months later, it’s early morning in Manchester; a few minutes into Christmas Day. Phil is typing out a text for Dan, after eagerly watching the clock for the past quarter hour. It's not yet Christmas in Florida, but he's found himself impatient.

He's sitting in his guest bedroom, in the house his family is staying at. The sheets are cold, silky, and a plain shade of white. Impersonal.

_Happy Christmas! :D love you_

_Have a good day binge watching Netflix_

_No Riverdale tho_

Dan replies after a moment.

_love you too!!!! eat lots of mince pies and sweets for me lmao_

_yes. no riverdale_

_only boring non Phil shows_

_Anything without me is boring :P_

_that is true but I think I'll survive by rewatching bakeoff_

_and opening my presents exactly when u tell me to_

_which is??_

_When I open mine!!!!!! Obviously_

_Or when my family opens them I guess_

_i'll be holding my breath for it lol_

_:)_

**Author's Note:**

> danke to mione for betaing this for me ily
> 
> written for quintessentially3/seaglass-howell/grinchyhowell, for the phanfic secret santa!!!
> 
> happy holidays, i hope you have a wonderful (or at least a tolerable) day and that you enjoy this festive-themed fic <33 it was v fun to write. i know u said you prefered a romantic relationship but it turns out the idea in my head was different from that, but this is basically how i'd write them either way, so i hope it's alright?? it's still ridiculously fluffy and sweet lmao
> 
> tumblr is @phansb


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